


Youth, O Youth, Come Out to Play (After All, It's Such a Snowy Day)

by japansace



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (with a touch of drama), Family Fluff, Found Family, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Kid Fic, M/M, Magic, Young Katsuki Yuuri, Young Victor Nikiforov, in which Yuuri and Victor become fast friends and NATURE ITSELF can't handle it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/pseuds/japansace
Summary: A snowstorm has hit Hasetsu like none the town's ever seen. But Yuuri Katsuki (age six) isn't afraid! He senses something out there in the wide, white winter wonderland, so he goes off to find it! Or... save it, more like. Because it's a little boy his age, passed out in the snow. Despite his weird dress and unknown origins, the Katsukis take him in. But who is this strange boy? And why won't this eternal winter end? Does it have something to do with him, perhaps? Or could it be that there's a force far greater than them that isn't satisfied with this little town yet?





	Youth, O Youth, Come Out to Play (After All, It's Such a Snowy Day)

**Author's Note:**

> This is [Mary's](http://adreamorasong-art.tumblr.com/) and my [big bang](https://victuri-big-bang.tumblr.com/) collaboration! I was so happy to work with you Mary~ I hope everyone likes it!
> 
> (Btw, the title isn't from anything; I made it up.)

Yuuri, he decides, very much does not like snow.

For one, it’s cold. It’s cold and it’s _wet_ , and Okaa-san says he shouldn’t go out there if he doesn’t want to get sick, and Yuuri doesn’t want to get sick, because that means _no more fun stuff—_ forever, maybe—or at least until he feels better, which is practically forever _anyway._

So no snow. It’s off-limits.

Except…

Except that there’s this _bad feeling._

Or not bad, necessarily. Just… _off._ Like when he forgets his poodle plush on the beach and has to run back for it before the ocean rises to come and take it out to sea. Like that, except _worse._ Like Yuuri’s in danger of losing a lot more than a stuffed animal.

He shuffles by the entrance of the onsen, little toes catching on the lip of the genkan. He never quite drops down from the itty-bitty ledge, because that’s _wrong_ ; that’s going _outside_ or _close to outside_ , and he _promised_ he wouldn’t do that.

But—

But can he _really_ be outside if he goes out and back before anyone notices?

“What are you doing, Yuu-chan?”

The boy whips his head around. “Nee-chan…”

Mari strides over to pry Yuuri’s fingers off the cupboard he was peeking behind. “Come on. It’s cold here, in the entry. Don’t you want some tea? Okaa-san’s making some.”

“But Nee-chan—“ Yuuri struggles against the vice of Mari’s hold, clamped around his wrist. “There’s—there’s something—" 

“Hmm?” She stops. “In the garden?”

“No…” No, Yuuri’s certain it’s a little farther than that. “No… On the beach… I think.”

“’You think’?”

“Yes!” Yuuri squeaks, ardent. “There’s something— _someone_ —there, and they’re _waiting_ for me—“

“There’s no one on the beach, silly,” Mari insists, tugging her brother along. “Who would be stupid enough to go out in this weather?”

“But _he’s_ —“  
  
“Who?” Mari demands.

Yuuri stares at the floor, looking as dejected as a six-year-old can. “Nobody,” he says.

Mari regards him with a discerning eye. “Good.” She takes his hand again, leading a march into the longue room, where their mother passes out cups of steaming jasmine tea.

But Yuuri is nothing if not determined.

And _patient._

He waits until his parents tuck him into bed—with the poodle plush of course, folded into the blankets by his side—but only remains there for a minute, slipping out of the sheets to toe along the floor, rifling through his drawer for a flashlight.

He finds the one they keep for emergencies, filed along his emergency sweets and emergency coloring book—both of which he stuffs in his backpack with Vicchan the poodle. Just _in case._

The stairs creak awful loud when Yuuri descends them, a hand running along the wall, the other flicking on the flashlight, lighting his path.

He passes his parents, still working at this hour: Yuuri’s mom serves drinks to the patrons while Yuuri’s dad “goes over the numbers.” (Yuuri isn’t sure what that means yet, but it involves a lot of symbols Yuuri doesn’t care for, so he hardly bothers with it.)

He passes Mari too, lying on her belly before the television, her legs kicking back and forth. She peels a mandarin during the commercials, popping in a piece between the lulls in subtitles. In the end, Yuuri has the least amount of problems sneaking past her.

Then he’s at the door, hands clutching at the straps of his backpack.

It’s little work to slide the entryway open, though the cool blast of hair that pushes back Yuuri’s bangs has him reconsidering. He steels himself though, the wavering connection with someone he felt before coming back to him as an insistent thumping in his chest.

With his shoes on the wrong feet and a scarf wrapped haphazardly around his neck, Yuuri ventures forth.

The beach isn't far, which is lucky for Yuuri. Usually Hasetsu’s weather ranges from warm to mildly scalding, but the blizzard has done its best to convince the inhabitants of the tiny village that the tropical island weather they’ve come to know is nothing more than a pleasant dream.

Yuuri trudges through the sleet, already shaking a little by the time his feet hit sand.

But he’s so _sure_ now. It’s like there is a string attached to him, pulling him forward, beckoning him closer. What it’s attached to, Yuuri isn’t positive about yet, but it’s _something_ —something tangible and real that needs his _help_ —and Yuuri didn’t come this far for nothing.

The beach is more icy than snowy—being close to the water as it is—and Yuuri is slip-sliding before long, his hands thrown out for balance as he tries to find safe passage towards the water.

It’s just before the frigid, crashing waves that Yuuri sees him:

A child his age, curled up before the tide. Yuuri picks up the pace, determined to reach him before the water does.

Yuuri falls during the very last leg—before the boy—and finally gets a good look at him.

He’s got hair like starlight, silver and gleaming like the falling snow. It’s long and winded too—braided into plaits—that make it just past his shoulders, though they lie limp now, upon the sand. He’s also in a peculiar outfit: A furry hat covers his head and ears, and a dress-like robe and overcoat have him prepared for the weather but not _that prepared_ , seeing as he is still passed out, his face pale, his lips bluing.

Yuuri scrambles to his knees. “Okaa-san! Otou-san! _Help_!”

He searches frantically along the horizon, but they’re back at the onsen; Yuuri hadn’t told them where he was going— _that_ he was going—so he’s completely on his own.

“Mari-neechan! Someone! _Please_!”

Yuuri scrubs at his face, even as fat tears dribble down his cheeks and chin. “I can’t—I can’t _do it_ —“ he wails. “I—I—!”

One of the straps of his bag slides off his little shoulder, his stuffed poodle dropping into the sand. It looks up at Yuuri with big, vacant eyes, reflecting him, the boy, the tide inching ever closer—

Yuuri grasps the toy, then—in a bout of bravery—stuffs it into the other boy’s coat, just below his chin where it might keep him warm. And so he doesn’t get _lonely._ Obviously.

The mystery boy stirs at this, his fingers twitching, face scrunching up in apparent displeasure, then settling once more, with the comfort of faux fur cuddled against him.

With that, Yuuri makes up his mind.

He first flips his backpack around so he’s wearing it against his chest, then gets to the ground and wriggles into the space beside the boy, flipping the other onto him and rising, the larger child slumped against his back.

Yuuri is shaking—from both cold and exertion—but he’s _standing_ , so there’s progress to be celebrated, and he takes his first few steps back towards the onsen, the warm lights of which are still viewable across the shore, like a beacon Yuuri can just make out in the snowstorm.

He leaves big, heavy prints in the sand and the snow, but with the extra weight, he doesn’t slide as much, making his trek back marginally less harrowing than it was coming out. He hits sidewalk—nearly falling again—and then eventually sleet-gilded earth, coming up to the door of his family’s inn.

He and the mystery boy collapse in the entry with a clatter, the door not even making it all the way shut.

“Okaa-san, Otou-san—“

It’s wasted effort. As soon as the door rings its entry chime, Toshiya strides in, expecting a customer.

He didn’t, of course, expect his son and another child, sopping wet and shivering.

“Yuuri-chan!” He surges forward, taking his son into his arms. “What are you doing? Did you go outside? Why would you—?”

“Him,” Yuuri indicates, pointing a finger at the other, strewn across the entry. “He was… on the beach. All alone. I…” He swallows, stares into his father’s face with the force of his declaration. “I had to save him!” 

Yuuri still tucked into his arm, Toshiya reaches out to other child, turning him over with delicate fingers. He’s breathing—but slow, and though he doesn’t shiver, this gives Toshiya no comfort at all. 

“This is bad,” he murmurs, gathering up the other child too. He lifts both and rushes into the lounge with them, hurried tone bordering on the frantic as he converses with Hiroko, tells her of everything he knows. 

Yuuri falls asleep like that: to his parents’ voices, too complicated and fast to listen to properly. They fade and blur like objects in the water—like objects below the ice—and he’s lulled into a dream of endless snowfall, peaceful like awaking to the first snow of the season on a Christmas morning.

* * *

When Yuuri blinks his eyes open again, he’s mutely surprised to discover he’s not, in fact, in his own bed but instead on the tatami mat of a guest suite, the scent of sweet grass pressed up against the brunt of his nose.

He shifts—so he can take in more of his surroundings—and kicks the blanket atop him half away, but a weight beside him keeps it from straying too far.

It’s then that he realizes he’s not alone.

The boy from before sleeps next to him, a fist curled around a corner of the blanket, the other buried in his own hair. It’s still in braids—of which lie limply beside him—though errant strands of it have come out of their hold, straggly and flat against the floor. He’s no longer in his strange clothes from earlier but in an outfit Yuuri recognizes as his own; it’s too big around the waist and too short in the pants, but it’s _dry,_ and that’s all Yuuri’s parents had cared about in the moment.

He looks better, Yuuri thinks. Less pale. A bit of a rosy glow clings to the top of his cheeks, pink as his parted lips, breathing in steady, soft rhythm.

Yuuri can’t help it. He pokes at his nose.

The boy whines at the treatment, brows pinching in momentary displeasure. Then his eyes flutter open, and Yuuri is assaulted by _blue_ , solid and wide as a cloudless sky.

“It’s you,” he says mildly. Yuuri waits for him to further expand on the thought, but there’s no follow-up, the boy apparently content to simply stare at Yuuri for as long as he’s allowed.

“Yes…?” Yuuri leans over him. “And who are you? Where did you come from?”

Whatever response he was to give is interrupted but the clattering of the shouji screen being pulled open, Hiroko entering with a platter of genmaicha balanced against her hip. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” She sits on her legs before them, holding out the tray in offering. “You gave us all quite a scare, you know.”

Yuuri fumbles for a cup, guiltily. “Sorry, Okaa-san.”

She ruffles her son’s hair. “That’s all right. We should have taken you more seriously when you said there was something out there.” Her petting stops, lips pursed in motherly concern. “But don’t ever do something dangerous like that again. Ask for help, if you need it.”

“Yes, Okaa-san.”

She resumes, pleased.

“Um—!” The other boy—who has since sat up—shrinks against the floor, as though he wasn’t prepared to make a noise. “Uh…” He swallows, eyes blinking from behind curled fingers. “Thank you for… coming to get me.”

Hiroko ruffles his hair too. “Don’t thank me. Yuuri was the one who weathered that storm to save you.” She places a cup before him, the ceramic clinking against the floor softly. “Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Victor." 

“Victor? That’s a very unique name.” She taps the rim of his genmaicha, in subtle suggestion. “Is it foreign?”

Victor lifts the drink to his lips. “Sort of.”

“Are you from Hasetsu?" 

“Not exactly.”

“Do you have family around here?”

“Maybe…?”

Hiroko simply watches Victor awhile, then sighs, lifting herself up from the floor. “Well,” she says, plucking up the tray, “you were out in that snow, so we’d like to have a doctor come take a look at you—you too, Yuuri-chan—to make sure you're both all right.” At the boys’ sounds of protest, she hushes them, softly. “I promise it’ll be quick. Just take it easy until they arrive, okay?”

The screen slides shut once more.

Victor immediately thuds down against the futon. “ _Ugh_.”

Yuuri lays himself down too, peaking over a curled fist at the other. “Don’t like doctors either?”

Victor rolls slightly, so he’s pouting at the ceiling. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Victor throws an arm over his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Yuuri scoots closer, just an inch or so. Clumsy fingers pet against the tatami, stroking over silver hair. “Your braids are coming out,” he says astutely.

The boy lifts his forearm to inspect. “Oh… yeah.”

“Here, sit up.” Yuuri doesn’t wait for compliance—just nudges at Victor’s shoulders until he’s sitting up with crossed legs—and goes about unraveling the twine from the end of his plaits, combing through his hair until it’s lying flat in gentle waves against his back.

“You’re very good at this,” Victor observes, straining to peek at Yuuri from the corner of his eye.

“Mm.” Yuuri concentrates, careful to keep his fingers deft and light, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips. “I have a sister.”

“I know.”

Yuuri halts, tilts his head. “How’d you know that?” He feels Victor startle under his hold. “You’re weird.”

“Uh—!”

“I like weird.” He goes back to braiding, humming a meandering tune that dips lows and soars high, like a gull strung upon an ocean breeze.

The peace only lasts until the doctor arrives—who is nice enough—but nice can only get you so far when you’re being poked at and prodded. They’re checked for fevers and injuries and who knows what else until the doctor is finally satisfied, declares them in good health and lets them be on their way. 

With that, Victor immediately starts up a game of tag which has Yuuri stumbling after him, only registering his parents’ wishes for them to wash up before theirs and the doctor’s voices—still lingering in the hall—go all muffled and quiet.

* * *

“Come on, Victor!” Yuuri says, scampering down the hall. He pauses at the door to the onsen proper, waiting for Victor to catch up.

Victor has been a vivacious child as long at Yuuri has known him—which admittedly hasn’t been long—but at this, he hesitates, leaning against the wall as though he’s starting to feel faint. “It’s getting very warm,” he murmurs, a shiver lancing through him as though he were experiencing the opposite sensation.

Yuuri pays it no mind. “This way, this way,” he calls, disappearing behind the curtain, confident Victor will eventually follow.

He does, inching his way into the locker room just as Yuuri is beginning to strip down. “Warm,” is all he greets with, his hands clenched around the ends of his braids.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be warm.” Yuuri wrestles with his shirt as it catches on his head. “Hot, actually. _Hot_ springs.”

Victor flinches. “No… Too hot.”

“You’ll be fine,” Yuuri insists, helping Victor out of his clothes. “We can’t stay in it for long though. Kids aren’t allowed to. So we’ll be fast.”

“Fast.” Victor seems to like the word. “We can be fast.”

Yuuri nods. “Promise.” He takes Victor’s hand and leads him out to the baths.

Victor pinkens considerably as the steamy air hits his face. “Aaah…”

“Great, right?” Yuuri pushes Victor towards the showers. “But first, wash.”

Together, they take out Victor’s hair ties to let his hair fall free. Victor manages to accomplish a complete rinse thereafter—with the shower turned to its lowest setting—then skittishly follows Yuuri to the edge of the water.

Toshiya is already in, having promised to keep a good eye on them. He doesn’t disturb them though, content to watch as Yuuri prods Victor closer to the spring.

When Victor gets to a point where he no longer budges, Yuuri circles around him to flash him a great big smile. “Okay, watch me then,” he says and dips a toe in.

Before long, he’s neck-deep, wading even in what’s considered a shallow area. “See? It feels good.”

“Good…” Victor seems to consider this. He takes a single step forward. “Good.”

“Good,” Yuuri confirms, bringing a hand forward. “So come in.”

Victor sinks a foot in—then _yelps._

“Hot!” he deems it, scrabbling back. “Too hot for me, Yuuri!”

Yuuri tilts his head at him. “Okay.” He pats the bedrock, right beside the pool. “Just sit here then. We can talk.”

Tentatively, Victor does, settling a bit when Yuuri doesn’t proceed to drag him into the water once he’s within arm’s length. They fall into easy, winding conversation, Yuuri remaining in the spring even as Victor doesn’t venture a second attempt, content just to be next to each other.

“I prefer cold,” Victor tells the other, an arm thrown around his knees. “Warm is… not good for me.”

“It’s plenty cold right now everywhere,” says Yuuri, inclining his head to the sky. The weather has lessened, somewhat, but flakes continue to rain down, though not nearly with as much intensity as before.

“Yeah…” Victor bites the inside of his cheek. “Hey,” he remarks, seemingly out of nowhere, “is there anywhere even colder in town?”

“ _Even colder_?” Yuuri repeats, incredulous. “A refrigerator, maybe?” He thinks on it. “Or perhaps Ice Castle…”  
  
Victor perks up at this, boldly leaning closer. “’Ice Castle’? Is there really a castle made of ice?”

“No, no,” Yuuri giggles, slapping a hand against the water with a little splash. “Ice Castle is an ice skating rink.”

Victor’s eyes shine like polished sapphires. “Can we go? Please, Yuuri? _Please_?”

Yuuri reddens a bit—though decidedly not from the heat of the spring. “I’ve never skated before…”

“That’s okay! But _can we go_?”

Yuuri regards his father. “Otou-san?”

Toshiya sips on his sake. “I don’t see why not.”

“Yay!” Victor throws his hands up. “Oh, you’re gonna _love it_ , Yuuri.”

Yuuri swims to the edge of the pool to lean his head atop his folded arms. “Okay… Might be fun.”

* * *

Now _this_ is Victor’s element.

“Come on, Yuuri!” he calls, pulling the other boy along by his mitten-clad fingers. “This way!”

“It-it’s so cold, Victor,” Yuuri comments, but he doesn’t give any more protest, keeping along with Victor’s pace.

They race down the stands until they’re at the boards, rising to their tippy toes to get a look at the ice beyond. Victor can see it some, but Yuuri lacks in this department, pouting when he can’t take in the view, his hands balling into frustrated little fists.

Victor notices—when his hand is clutched tighter—and gets behind Yuuri, lifts him up in one go, his arms wrapped around the smaller boy’s middle.

Yuuri gasps at the surprise treatment—and then at the ice, glistening from a recent polishing, clean and pure and _frigid cold_ and ready for two tiny skaters to take it on.

“Ready to go out, Yuuri?” Victor asks, a bit strained from still holding up the other.

Luckily, Yuuri is raring to go and squirms out of his grasp, eyes alight with newfound determination. “Yeah, let’s go!" 

They wait a minute longer for the grown-ups to catch up. When they do, Yuuri’s mother and a nice lady who works at the rink helps the boys into some rental skates, placing their little legs on their laps to tighten up the laces.

“Now be careful with these,” the skating girl says, tapping Victor’s foot through the top of his boot. “They’re sharp on the bottom, so try not to run into each other. Go slow and hold each other’s hands for the first time, all right?”

“Yes!” Victor and Yuuri chorus in unison.

With wobbly legs—Yuuri more so than Victor—they make their way to a gap between the boards; Victor descends onto the ice sure-footed, then offers Yuuri a hand. “You can do it, Yuuri!” he says, shaking out his hand again in encouragement when Yuuri doesn’t immediately latch onto it.

Yuuri regards the frozen water with some reluctance, feet turning inward with hesitance. “I’ll fall,” he says, most assuredly. “I’ll fall, and then _you’ll_ fall, because you’re holding onto me—“

“We won’t fall,” Victor promises. When Yuuri doesn’t change his stance, the other’s face brightens with a brilliant idea. “Okay, stay there for a moment, Yuuri. But watch me, okay?”

“Oh, be careful, Vicchan!” Yuuri’s mother calls, seeing Victor skate out to center ice all by his lonesome.

“I will!” Victor calls behind him. He picks up some speed en route, then does a little hop—a skip, almost—landing on the opposite foot he took off on. “See, Yuuri?” He skates backwards, not looking at all where he’s going but still managing an easy glide along the barrier. “I’m really good, so there’s no need to be scared!”

Yuuri’s eyes practically sparkle, clamoring against the wall to get even a glimpse more of Victor and his incredible performance. “I see, I see! Come back and take me with you, Victor!”

Victor does, coming over immediately to collect his friend. “So good, Yuuri,” Victor coos, skating backwards once more as he pulls Yuuri along. “A natural!”

Yuuri isn’t so sure about that, seeing as his legs still feel like pudding; he keeps having to correct his footing so that one skate doesn’t run into the other. “Not like you,” Yuuri denies, vehement. He gazes up from the pristine whites of his skates to Victor’s crystal-blue eyes. “It’s so easy for you. And you can do tricks! I can’t do any tricks.”

Victor’s face pulls into a moue—then, promptly, a wide smile. “What if we both did tricks?”

Yuuri blinks. “Huh?”

“Here…” Victor comes to a gradual stop, as does Yuuri, by extension. He sidles up to the other and lifts him again—but this time, on top of his skates, Yuuri’s blades biting into the leather of Victor’s.

“Vi-Victor—!" 

“Hold on to me,” Victor directs, taking Yuuri’s hands and dropping them on his shoulders. “Tightly, okay?”

Yuuri’s fingers clamp down. “Okay.”

Victor starts to skate—slowly, at first—and Yuuri tries to match the movements best he can.

“Are you okay, Vicchan?” Hiroko asks when they lap near where she’s taken a post. Her voice wavers a little, like she herself might be the not okay one.

“I’m perfect!” Victor assures. “Right, Yuuri?” he invokes, fingers digging into the boy’s sides. “We’re perfect, right?”

“Y-yes,” Yuuri squeaks, and he finds that he means it. “It’s okay, Okaa-san. He promised we’re not gonna fall.”

“Well if you’re sure…” She sighs. “Just don’t do anything crazy, all right?”

The boys agree, but his mother is only barely out of earshot when Yuuri complains, “You said _tricks_. Are we gonna do any tricks?”

Victor laughs. “Of course!"

But Yuuri is pouting once more. “We can’t jump like this. Too heavy.”

“Yeah,” Victor admits, “but we can do something _better_. Want to spin, Yuuri?”

The light comes back into Yuuri’s eyes. “Yes! I want to, I want to—!” 

“Then hold on!" 

Victor puts the metal to the ice, propelling himself—and Yuuri—into a decent speed. It’s just as Yuuri is starting to get a little bit nervous that Victor turns on his heel, launching them into a spin that makes Yuuri break into a bout of hysterical laughter.

“Too fast!” Yuuri says, but his tone is nothing if not encouraging. His eyes close as he continues to giggle across the entire rink, the two spinning and spinning and spinning, noses pressed together as the color rises to their cheeks.

It’s only when they’re slowing down to a gentle glide that Yuuri opens his eyes again to find glittering flakes fluttering down upon them.

Hands still clutched around the folds of Victor’s coat, Yuuri peers up towards the rafters. “Snow… indoors?”

Victor looks too, his mouth agape. “ _Wow._ ”

Yuuri pulls himself away from the clouds that have formed against the rink’s ceiling long enough to gaze at Victor in wonderment. “Victor! You’re magic!”

Victor laughs, but it’s a bit sad, somehow. “I guess I am.”

It’s only when Hiroko has coaxed them off the ice and out of the cold that Victor bounces back from his more subdued moment, skipping along with Yuuri back to the onsen without another word given regarding the flurry he left back in the rink.

* * *

“Viiiiichaaan~”

Victor shakes his head, cheeks puffed out to their utmost cuteness, his little arms crossed tight.

Hiroko wafts the plate of cookies under the boy’s nose again. “Please, Vicchan? We need to know how to contact your family. If you give us a phone number to call, you can have a cookie, promise!”

Victor squints out of one eye, looking slightly tempted. “Mm,” he considers—then huffs, curling himself ever tighter. “No! I want to stay with Yuuri!”

“You and Yuuri can still be friends,” Toshiya wheedles. “But we need to know whom you belong to. It isn’t right to make them worry. Right, Vicchan? Don’t you think that’s unfair?”

Victor merely hangs his head at this. “He’s going to be mad at me,” he says, oh-so small.

“Who? Your father? He won’t be mad at you.” Toshiya winces, reconsiders. “Well… perhaps he’ll be a _little_ mad, because nobody likes to be worried. But I’m sure he’ll be more relieved than anything to know his son is safe.”

Victor wrings the front of his—Yuuri’s—shirt. “But I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Oh? Did you run away to avoid something?” Hiroko questions. “Homework? Chores?”

Victor shrinks further. “Work.”

“What kind of work?”

Victor squirms.

The parents sigh, Hiroko finally giving in to those puppy-dog eyes and placing a cookie before Victor. He snatches it away immediately, nibbling on the treat as he retires to the common room, in search of his new best friend. 

“I’ll keep making calls,” Toshiya says, resignedly. “Somebody _has_ to be looking for him.”

Hiroko casts a glance outside, at the snow that inexplicably keeps falling and falling and falling and _falling._ “For his sake, we can only hope so.”

* * *

“It's unprecedented,” a newscaster is saying upon the television screen in the lounge. She’s outside, being pelted by snowflakes but still somehow maintaining a steady hold on the microphone. “Southern Japan has never seen a snowfall like this. And it doesn’t look like it’s going to be abating any time soon.”

From the corner of Yuuri’s eye, he can see Victor chewing at his lip.

“The heaviest is forecasted to occur tonight, around midnight. If you can stay indoors, please do. The temperature is expected to take another dramatic plunge.”

Victor rolls off his cushion, braids thwaping against his face. “ _Yuuuuu_ ri, I’m so _bored_.”

Yuuri giggles, rolling alongside him. “Wanna play hide and seek?”

Victor bolts upright, pumping his fists in the air. “Yes!" 

They fold themselves in storage closets, tuck themselves under stairs, in drawers until Yuuri’s mom calls them for dinner, spoiling their final round when Yuuri extricates himself from his spot and gives his position away with the slapping of bare feet against the hardwood.

“That one doesn’t count!” he squeaks when Victor jumps out from behind a door, throwing his arms around him and trapping him in place.

“It does too!” Victor laughs, tightening his hold and swaying Yuuri back and forth as he tries to break free.

Needless to say, they’re a little late to dinner.

Soon enough after, they’re being tucked in bed— _together_ , because Victor insists on it. Yuuri doesn’t mind. In fact, he welcomes it. He’s always liked to cuddle, and besides, the howling wind and vicious snowfall outside that’s rattling the windows has him understandably on edge. So he lets Victor octopus around him and makes sure the blanket stays snug, convinced this is more than enough to keep the world away.

They fall asleep then soon enough: Yuuri, into a semi-peaceful lull; Victor, into a near-conscious surface sleep that has him flinching at each and every bump in the night.

By the time the rest of the inn has settled, Victor is quaking nearly more than the old boards of the house.

But it’s only when the window capitulates to the storm’s wrath—being thrown open by a flurry, an icy blast to the face—that Victor’s eyes at last snap open.

“ _Viiiiiiitya—_!”

“Yuuri, run!”

“Wha—?”

Yuuri is hardly able to rub the sleep out of his eyes before Victor has his wrist, pulling him out from under the covers, off the bed, down the hall.

“Victor, where are we—?”

“He’s coming to get me!"

“Who—?” 

“He’ll find out I didn’t do it!”

“Do what—?”

Their descent down the stairs rouses the house, the Katsukis coming out to intercept them in the foyer.

“Vicchan, is everything okay?” Hiroko approaches, placing a warm hand over his trembling shoulder. “Did you have a nightmare?”

It’s as though Victor hardly registers the question, his attention continuously splitting itself between the entrance, Yuuri’s hand in his, Hiroko’s kind eyes. “He’s—he’s coming, and he’s gonna be _mad_ —“

“Oh, your father is here?” Toshiya crosses over to the threshold, placing a hand to the door. “Well, it’s only polite to invite him in. Then we can sort this whole matter out together.”

“No, wait—!”

A single sliver is all it takes for the blizzard to force its way in—slamming the door open in its entirety—to admit ice and snow and sleet into the entry, pouring in all at once until all that can be seen is a sea of white.

But it fades—drains—from the room, and when the last of it has slunk away, a singular figure is left standing in the doorway:

An elderly man with a deep-seated scowl that has Yuuri clinging to his mother’s pantlegs. He’s pale like Victor—maybe even paler—and has long, flowing hair—even _longer_ than Victor’s—but not braided, instead left to lie limp and straggly by his sides, though the top of his head is bald, like a beacon. He’s bright—too bright, almost, to look at—but somehow, it’s eyes of a familiar deep blue that are the most difficult to endure. 

“Vitya,” he acknowledges, in a tone full of gravel. Yuuri feels Victor tense beside him.

“Yakov—“

“Don’t you ‘Yakov’ me, boy.”

Victor squeaks and ducks behind Yuuri.

“Um…” Toshiya visibly swallows, hand still lifted from initially opening the door. “Not to interrupt, but… are you Vicchan’s father?”

Yakov scoffs. “If ‘Vicchan’ is this worthless little thing, then yes, in a sense of the word. He is my successor.”

“Successor…?”

“ _Vitya_.” Yuuri’s dad is thoroughly ignored. “You’ve failed your first task.”

Victor says nothing.

Yakov turns his piercing gaze on Yuuri. “Still alive, I see.”

Hiroko shuffles her son—and by extension, Victor—further behind her. “What do you mean by that?”

Yakov groans, lifting a weathered hand to his face. “They don’t know, do they, Vitya?”

Yuuri feels fingers clench at the collar of his sleep shirt.

The old man casts a glance over his shoulder, at the courtyard and beyond; it looks as though the landscape has been frozen—in time, that is—as the snow has ceased falling, leaving a blanket of white over it, encapsulating it. “I will try to explain this in terms you humans can understand.”

“I’m sorry, ‘humans’—?”

“We’re what you refer to as Yuki no Onna.” He gestures, between him and Victor. “Snow spirits. Ice gods. Whatever term you prefer.”

“But the ‘onna’ is—" 

“Yes, yes, I’m aware.” Yakov huffs, a flurry on his breath. “Common misconception. The first of us presented as female. But each reincarnation takes their own form.” His jaw goes hard, chiseled. “And I am just about faded. Vitya is the next of our line. He was meant to take over my duties—claim his first victim—before I go in peace. He was given an easy target: a child, with considerable curiosity in a town that could easily misplace one.”

“Then you mean…” Hiroko pushes her son’s head into her thigh. “… Vitya was supposed to go after…?”

“Yes,” he says, frigid. “But it seems you had nothing to worry about after all, as the current incarnation was too incompetent to complete his task.”

“But he—!“ Yuuri blurts, shrinks back against his mother’s side. “But Victor,” he tries again, softer, “didn’t try to hurt me at all. He wasn’t coming after me. He was asleep on the beach when I found him.”

“Asleep?” Yakov acknowledges—then barks a laugh. “How naïve you are, boy. The state you describe suggests he was overcome by his own power. I doubt he even attempted an abduction—just lied down to let the storm rage over his head.” He glares at Victor, from the end of his nose. “What a pathetic display. You’d rather have been overwhelmed by your own blizzard than kill a single human. I weep for our lineage.”

Victor stares out at nothing, moisture threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I—I—“

“You’re wrong!”

Victor’s fingers unclench in shock, allowing Yuuri to step forward, his hands propped up on his hips, stance wide. “You’ve got it all wrong! You say Victor isn’t a good Yuki no Onna, but he is! Yuki no Onna make snowstorms, and Victor made a great one! It’s cold and white and is fun to play in and skate on! Yuki no Onna don’t need to hurt people! Snow can be scary, but it’s also pretty! Why can’t he be a nice Yuki no Onna? Maybe—maybe you’re just _mean_.”

“ _Yuuri_ —“

“Maybe you’re mean and you never needed to be! Maybe Victor is the best Yuki no Onna there ever was, and you just don’t want to accept it because you’re _jealous_!”

There’s a step forward, the foot falling down heavy, mountainous. “Why, you—!”

“Don’t you dare come any closer,” Hiroko snaps, and despite the way her lip quivers, her eyes are hard and dark. “You leave my son alone—and Vicchan too. This boy has been nothing but kind since he got here, and he’s not going to be forced to go against his nature by the likes of _you_.”

Yakov guffaws. “His nature? You simple woman, he _is_ nature. He was born for one purpose and one purpose alone. Would you ask the trees not to drop their leaves or the rain not to fall? You’d sooner convince the sun not to shine than Vitya not to take his place as Yuki no Onna.”

“Vicchan can make his own decisions.” Toshiya’s tone is terse as he draws back his son, not looking at him but instead at Yakov, with unwavering eye contact. “But either way, you need to leave. You’re not welcome here.”

“You humans are always so _arrogant_.” The spirit lifts a hand, bone-white. “You act like you have a _choice_ —“

A surge of sleet descends from his arm, cracking hard against the ground before rushing up to the humans, rising in preparation to bury them in an avalanche. The parents gather Yuuri and Victor up together in their arms, kneeling to the floor to brace for impact.

There’s a distinct lack of crash, but they don’t lift their heads. Even when they do, it’s with tensed muscles and pinched expressions, squinting up to evaluate why they haven’t yet been buried alive.

What they see has their mouths gaping wide in awe.

The tidal wave of snow hangs suspended above them, casting a long, icy silhouette. Here and there, flakes break loose from it, fluttering down harmlessly and melting against their skin, but otherwise, it is entirely frozen in place.

And before it, Victor stands, with a hand pressed up against its frigid surface.

Brows furrowed with effort, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates, Victor pushes his hand forward; the wave bows back accordingly, the shadow draining fully away from their side of the foyer to the other before Victor throws his wrist, the avalanche dissolving into powder and diamond dust.

When it fully dissipates, Yakov is standing on the other side, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

Victor doesn’t wait for him to find his tongue.

“Now you listen here, Yakov!” Victor stomps forward, hands on his hips in an emulation of Yuuri. “This is _my_ family! I’m the Yuki no Onna now, so what I say goes! And I say you’re not allowed to hurt them! Or anyone! Ever! _Again_! Got that?”

Yakov shakes himself out of his stupor—slowly—wearing an expression of pride that doesn’t seem to sit well on his worn face. “It seems we get stronger with each iteration of ourselves, don’t we, Vitya?”

Victor only widens his stance. 

Yakov chuckles, lowly. “Very well then. You seem capable enough. Have your little family and your little town. See how long it lasts.” He turns, a ghostly hand held to the doorframe. “I must admit,” he says, his back turned, “I am curious to see where this goes.” His eyes glint, from over his shoulder. “Farewell, Vitya.”

With a gust, he’s gone, leaving only imprints in the snow.

“That was _so cool_ , Victor!”

Victor startles when Yuuri launches himself at the other, hanging off his back as Victor spins around, giggles bubbling out of the two of them. “Really, you think so?”s fly off Victor’s lips as they twirl, Yuuri’s parents rising to assess themselves, smiling at the boys when they find all is well.

Yet a yawn from the corner of the room has them all jumping out of their skin.

Mari stands at the mouth of the hallway, rubbing at an eye. “What’s with all the noise? What did I miss?”

They look at each other—

And laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki, it's a Vitya.
> 
> I kinda want to make this a series...? I don't know. I'll think about it. There's just so much potential. (Tell me in the comments if you like the idea...?)
> 
> Thanks again to Mary! Give them some love. <3
> 
> Edit: It occurs to me, a day later, that I totally forgot to explain what the Yuki no Onna is. Whoops...?
> 
> So the Yuki no Onna is a mythical creature of Japanese lore (literally translated to "Snow Woman") that lures unsuspecting people into blizzards and kills them. Some legends say she was initially a victim of a snowstorm herself; others claim she's more succubus in nature, claiming men through seduction; and others still say she attracts parents who have lost their children with a faux-snow child in her arms. Either way, a cool ghost story and an excellent reminder to always take a buddy with you when you go out to brace the elements.


End file.
